Space for Growth (Spire Station #3)

Chapter 3

3

I jolt awake to an overwhelming surge of nausea, swallowing down the urge to be sick all over the bed. It’s gone almost as quickly as it came on, and there’s a moment of relief before I realize what that means.

The ship jumped.

No. No way . This isn’t real. It can’t be.

I push myself up on shaky arms and glance out the large window on the wall opposite the bed. I scan the sea of stars, silently begging for the massive space station I call home to come into sight.

When it doesn’t, I get out of bed and press myself closer to the pane, squinting out into space with the desperate hope of catching sight of something—anything—that I recognize. But after a few minutes of scanning an unfamiliar array of twinkling stars, my dread deepens.

I pinch myself hard on the off-chance that this is all a hallucination, or a dream brought on by too much Shikzeth fire wine, and wince. Shit, that hurt.

I lift my wrist to open my comm, hoping that there’s enough of a signal to connect somewhere to send a distress message, or at least use it to figure out where the fuck in the universe I am. But my wrist is bare.

What the fuck?

My hands are shaking now as dread-filled adrenaline courses through me, and I feel lightheaded, but I’m not about to pass out again. I need to get my shit together and figure out how to get away from the alien pirate that abducted me.

Creeping over to the door that must be the exit to these quarters, I tap the panel, and to my surprise, it opens right away.

Huh, so I’m not locked in here. Now if I can find my way to the bridge, or sneak up on someone, and…

And what? I’ve never attacked anyone in my life, let alone gotten into a physical altercation, unless you count the time Mezli slapped me when we first met. I don’t even like getting into arguments. Fina and Mezli give me shit for my non-confrontational approach to life, but I’m a trained diplomat with the Coalition’s embassy. I’ve spent my entire adulthood learning how to measure and carefully select my words to make sure they don’t cause offense or misunderstandings.

Shit. What am I going to do? I should’ve taken Mezli’s suggestion of at least getting some self-defense training, but I got so busy with work and rarely went out alone on Spire, so I didn’t prioritize it. I thought about it again when Eden got attacked and there was a flare up in anti-human sentiment with a small minority on the station when the Coalition embassy opened, but… Well, I don’t have any excuses for that other than me being a cocky dumbass who assumed I’d be able to use the muscle I’ve built in the gym on the off-chance I’m attacked.

Now, when faced with the need to fight or incapacitate a seladin—or who knows what other aliens are on this ship—that thought is laughable. My body is covered in vanity muscles, not anything functional. The best I can do is run, but there’s no running off a ship floating in some unknown sector of the galaxy.

Unless… No, that’s a terrible idea.

When a few minutes pass as I hover next to the open doorway, wracking my brain, and nothing else magically comes to mind, I realize with a groan that it’s my best chance.

I need to find an escape pod. If I can, I’m sure it has comms systems I can use.

Best-case scenario, we jumped close to a station or colony, and I’ll get help from them. I’m sure the Coalition would be happy to offer a reward to anyone willing to assist an abducted human diplomat and get in the good graces of the Xi Consortium. Or at least I’m sure I can convince them of that.

There’s a moment of bolstering confidence as I imagine that scenario. I glance out into the corridor, checking to make sure no one is coming, before taking a step out. The captain’s quarters are at the end of the corridor, so at least I don’t have to decide which direction to turn.

My confidence lasts for about five steps before I consider the worst-case scenarios. Visions of floating in the void of space for cycles until the rations run out or life support fails. Or worse, I get picked up by less friendly aliens who have no qualms with taking me to a black market and selling me to the highest bidder.

That’s something that happens, right? It’s got to be a thing. We like to pretend that the galaxy is civilized, and the law protects all sentient beings, but the galaxy is vast. With my luck, we’ve jumped to a pocket where the Consortium’s presence is spread thin, and I’ll be nabbed and become an oddity in some rich, unscrupulous alien’s zoo. Or forced to fight to the death for spectator sport.

My feet refuse to move, frozen in place in horror at what might await me if I really try to do this.

I could go back to the bedroom, lie down, and wait for the pirate to come back. Maybe they’ll tell me they’re taking me right away to a transport back to Spire, and that this really was a misunderstanding and an accident.

Or maybe this was all a ruse he does to gullible, lonely aliens. Get them drunk, lure them back to their ship, and then kidnap them.

Shit, I’ll take my chances with the escape pod.

My feet unfreeze and I hurry past several sealed doors until I come to a dead-end with a lift.

I step inside the lift and search the control panel. There are three levels available and we’re on the top, so it’s a choice between the one directly below this level, or the bottom level. With only knowledge of human spacecraft to guide me, I mash the icon next to the bottom level, crossing my fingers that it’s the right choice.

The lift surges downward, and I plaster myself against the wall at the lurching motion. Which is good, because when the door slides open, I hear voices.

I hold as still as possible, and wonder how I never realized how fucking loud my breathing is. There’s no way whoever is out there won’t hear me. The lift door slides shut again automatically, and for a moment I worry someone has called the lift and I’m going to get caught. When it doesn’t go anywhere, I press the door open button and peek out surreptitiously, praying that whoever was talking has moved away from the lift.

If they are out there, I don’t see them and the longer I linger in the lift, the more likely it is that someone will need to use it, so I make the split-second decision to dart out and into the corridor.

Heart racing, I skulk down the hallway, my back against one wall in a feeble attempt to be less noticeable. I hear voices again, and this time they’re closer. Much closer.

“You checked the crates?” The voice is melodic, slightly trilling. Probably an aespian. I could take an aespian. Maybe. They’re small but they have a carapace, while I’m all fleshy and defenseless.

God, couldn’t humans have evolved with something more protective than paper-thin skin like mine that bruises at the slightest bump? I could really use an exoskeleton or something right now.

I clench my fists and prepare for the speaker to round the bend in the hallway.

Then I hear another, deeper voice. “Yeah. I found a standard shipment tracker embedded in each crate, but they were already disabled, like you said. Not that I didn’t believe you. Just had to make sure we weren’t transporting explosives or cryogenically frozen live cargo.” They laugh, the sound resonant. I can’t place what species they are from their voice alone, but they’re definitely not an aespian.

I can’t take on any other kind of alien! Vuloi and shikzeth could crush me with one hand tied behind their back, seladin have their sharp fangs and claws, ankite can probably morph their bodies to an optimized form for combat, and nexxit have four arms to my two.

Once again, I curse the fact that humans seem to have scraped the bottom of the barrel when it comes to the evolutionary lottery. If I manage to make it away from here and back to the station alive, the first thing I’m doing is getting Phelix or Eden to hook me up with some kind of defensive implants. Maybe subdermal shocks for anyone that tries to touch me. Or better yet, some kind of paralytic venom darts that I can shoot from my hands. Those have got to exist, right?

I choke back a manic bubble of laughter at the thought.

God, I’m so fucked.

The aespian lets out a soft chuckle, sounding mere feet away.

In a blind panic, I smash the panel next to the door my back is plastered against, tumbling backward onto my ass and barely suppressing a yelp of pain as I land on my tailbone. I scramble away from the doorway in a weird crab walk just in time for the aliens to pass by. My breath catches as I wait for the inevitable moment where they turn to look inside the room, but they walk right past it.

The doors slide closed a few seconds after they’re gone, and my breath punches out of my lungs as I sag against the floor in relief.

That is until a pair of massive combat boots appear directly in front of my face. I let out a shocked sound somewhere between a squeak and a gasp, and try to scramble away, but a booted foot rests squarely in the center of my chest and pins me there with ease.

Flaming red eyes, horns, and a cloud of faintly glowing violet smoke are all I can make out of the figure who’s caught me.

Oh god. If I wasn’t so dehydrated, I’d probably piss my pants.

A moment later, the overhead lights power on, illuminating a shikzeth towering over me with a scowl.

Another cloud of smoke billows from their nostrils and their flaming red eyes narrow into sharp pinpricks of light. “Who the fuck are you?”

My mouth opens and closes a few times like a dying fish, and I expect that at any moment, I’m going to get my chest stomped in .

“Please don’t kill me!” I finally blurt.

They blink at me a few times in surprise, let out a long-suffering sigh, and remove their foot from my chest, then crouch down beside me. Up close, their horns, blazing eyes, and smoke breath remind me of a demon from human folklore. The kind that will flay you alive and wear your bones as a necklace, not the sexy kind.

Logically, I know from my research at work that shikzeth typically practice non-violence, but there are outliers to any cultural norms. Like the one shikzeth that tried to kill my friend Eden by feeding her food toxic to humans.

They give me a tiny poke and I flinch. “I’m not going to kill you. At least not yet. Answer my question,” they grit out in a rumbling voice.

“I-I’m, uh, I’m Paul!”

They cock their head slightly, considering me. “Why are you here in my med bay, Paul? And why are you lying on the floor like a half-dead skrall?”

“I was…I was looking… Hadrell! I was looking for Hadrell!”

A puff of smoke billows from their nostrils again as they let out a snort. “On the floor?”

“I got turned around a-and, I, uh, I tripped!” I sputter.

Dammit, I need to calm down or they won’t believe me. I suck in a stabilizing breath and give them what I hope is a charming, slightly doltish smile. “Could you assist me in finding them?”

They back off a bit and shrug. “Sure.” The shikzeth offers me a hand, and I try not to hesitate or show more fear as I take it. Their grip as they easily haul me up to my feet is careful, which is a relief since their craggy plating could’ve crushed my finger bones into dust if they squeezed too hard.

“Th-thanks! I must’ve looked so silly down there on the floor. I swear I’m not always this clumsy, but I’m feeling a little disoriented.”

Their narrowed eyes relax a hint as they release my hand. “Probably from the jump. Some species experience more adverse effects from it.”

Now that the lights are on and I’m up off the floor, I can see I’m in a small medical bay. On the far side of the room are two beat-up medipods, and a few feet to my side is an examination table, and a tray filled with an assortment of medical implements.

I shudder at the sight. I hate med bays. I spent far too much time in them growing up, since I have a rare genetic disorder that required medical intervention like clockwork every week for the first dozen years of my life.

The shikzeth gives me a concerned look. “Are you alright? If you’re going to fall over again, maybe sit down instead.”

I nod. “R-right.” I move over to the exam table and lean against it, not quite sitting, but it seems to satisfy them. At least my discomfort is lending some credence to my story about being disoriented. Now I just have to figure out how to distract them enough to get the hell out of here.

The shikzeth looks away from me and taps their comm, and a moment later I hear Hadrell’s voice. “Bret’u? Don’t tell me something is wrong down there, too.”

“Nothing wrong. Your latest…” the shikzeth gives me a quick once-over and continues, “conquest wandered down here looking for you.”

My pulse quickens. I have mere moments to act before the alien in the room with me realizes I’m a captive, not a guest. I glance at the medical instruments within arm’s reach and grab one that looks a bit like the sedation gun the medic used on me when I was a kid.

“Don’t touch that, you might—” they start to warn me, but I lift my arms, point the trigger at their chest, and squeeze. A tiny projectile shoots out and bounces impotently off their chest.

Fuck!

They glare at me and I try again, but this one doesn’t make any impact either.

Of course it doesn’t! They’ve got protective plating, dumbass.

“Stop it,” they growl, taking a step closer and holding their hands up defensively.

I shriek and dodge to the side before they get closer, crashing into the cart of equipment and flailing my arms to keep from falling on my ass yet again.

The sedation gun goes flying out of my hand and skids across the floor, landing directly at their feet.

“ Vash-ka . Keep him there and don’t let him hurt himself. He’s already passed out once. I’ll be down in a minute,” Hadrell’s voice calls out over the comm.

“Got it,” the shikzeth replies calmly, and before I even realize they’re moving, they close the space between us lightning fast and snag an arm around my waist, hauling me up off my feet.

“No! Put me down!” I scream, struggling to free myself. “I won’t let you put me in a zoo!”

I crack them in the side of the jaw as I swing wildly, but immediately regret throwing the punch when there’s a blinding burst of pain in my hand that reverberates up my arm and makes my teeth clack together.

“Gods dammit, I was supposed to keep you from hurting yourself,” they growl, plopping me down on the exam table and taking a step back. “If you don’t calm down, you might break more than a few fingers.”

It sounds like a threat rather than a warning.

I can’t stay here. I have to get away .

I roll to the other side of the exam bed and onto my feet. I’m about to make a desperate break for it, when an unfamiliar seladin appears in the doorway. “Having some trouble, doctor?” they ask, the amusement in their voice making my panic ratchet up higher.

I’m trapped.

“If you kill me, you’ll have both the Consortium and the Coalition on your ass. I’m the human ambassador to Spire!” Not entirely true, but I’m desperate.

Unfortunately, neither one of them looks like they believe me.

I watch in slow motion as the shikzeth bends down to pick up the sedation gun at their feet. A moment too late, I try to duck, and a small dart pierces my arm before I can dodge it.

“God damn thin human skin,” I curse, trying to pull the dart out from where it’s embedded, but it’s too late. My vision blurs and I wobble. “Definitely…getting an exo…exoskel…” My lips and tongue feel increasingly numb, and the word I’m looking for escapes me as consciousness drifts out of my grasp.